


in this dark hole there is some light

by TheTartWitch



Series: the lionheart star [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blaise is Regulus's son, F/M, Regulus Black Lives, let me know if i should add tags, mrs zabini's name is isla, though he's in a healing coma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 04:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17932550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTartWitch/pseuds/TheTartWitch
Summary: The world believes his father is dead.





	in this dark hole there is some light

**Author's Note:**

> another fic about regulus  
> i mean blaise  
> oops  
> haha

The world believes his father is dead. He did too, until he was seven years old and Mother was holding his hand and leading him down a hidden staircase to a room glowing with healing magic and called upon an angry house elf to tell him a story as she sat by the coffin-like centerpiece of the room and stroked its lid. He used to go down to that room everyday to peer through the transparent lid at the man inside, dark-haired and pale, with laugh lines at his temples and a scar through his lip. He knows this is only man his widow mother has ever loved, and every man after that is a charade of the love she’d give the man in the room if only he would wake and be with her. He is content with his mother’s stories of the man, not needing more, until Black escapes Azkaban.

He watches the  _ Prophet _ ’s picture of the man snarl and rage and tries not to remember his mother’s stories of Black as a boy his age: cruel, dismissive, and a bully. He wonders, for a moment, if Black has somehow found out about his new young relative and this is his reaction. He dismisses it for the knowledge that Black likely wouldn’t care overly much beyond denying him any chance to claim his heritage and that he’s probably going to Hogwarts for Potter. Everything is about Potter.

Mother sends him off to school with a kiss on the cheek and a few choice words in his ear. “Don’t go looking for trouble, darling. Sirius and your father aren’t close.”

\--

He’s sitting with Draco and Pansy on the train when the dementors sweep through; they stop at their compartment door for a little while, bony fingers clasped delicately around the door’s frame until someone out in the hall finally casts the Patronus Charm and the dementor flees, shrieking. It’s a grizzled man, on the shorter side and blonde, with scars on his face and pockets full of chocolate. He doesn’t stay to chat, wandering on to the next compartment with a sturdy gait.

The dementors don’t find Black on the train. He can’t decide if he’s glad or upset. The choice is easy for Draco, who writes an angry letter to his father.

\--

He knows everything his mother knew about Black from his father, so when the dog shows up on the grounds during his walk he crouches down and offers it a bit of chicken he’d had in a picnic basket. The dog is like a skeleton; he counts its ribs through its threadbare coat, gets a good hold of a collar he conjures around its neck. It tenses, eyes wide and dark and intelligent as they search his. He whispers, “I know who you are. I’ll help you, if you tell me why you’re here, Lord Black.”

The dog snarls, but the coast is clear. Mother hadn’t encouraged this course of action, but he’s curious. The Black family is known for every member’s descent into madness; perhaps this is his. 

Sirius Black stands before him in tattered prisoner’s garb and a lovely leather collar with a magical lock. It won’t release him until Blaise says so, and Blaise isn’t going to say so until he gets what he wants. 

“I’m looking for a rat,” the man says hoarsely. Blaise consults his mental catalogue of pets at Hogwarts.

“Weasley’s got a rat,” he muses, “that’s why you were aiming for Gryffindor? Not Potter, that’s surprising,” but Black’s eyes blaze at the mention of Potter and he sighs internally. Of course. Even the crazed convict adores Potter, it just figures. When is he going to learn that Potter is the center of the universe? “I’ll get it for you,” he agrees, “but only if you hide out and stop  _ attracting attention _ . You’re just asking to get caught again,” he growls disgustedly. Mother’s stories had painted this man as a stealth genius, and maybe it’s the twelve years of imprisonment and solitary confinement but he isn’t seeing it.

“Okay,” Black agrees, excitement palpable. “The shack - the shrieking one - I can go there for a bit.”

“Good.” Blaise dusts off his knees, satisfied. Students are beginning to file out onto the green but they’re still hidden in this small copse of trees. “Go now, then. I’ll have the rat for you within the week.”

\--

Pantalaimon wings down at breakfast two days later, enchanted box gripped in her talons. No one questions the subtle squeaking escaping the box nor the frankly excessive owl treat he bestows upon her. He waits until he’s in the dorm alone to turn one side transparent and peer inside: the rat is missing a toe. His blood roils gently in the cage of his body. He’s done his research; his father had gone to the threshold of Death’s door to defeat the man (for that’s all he was, a  _ man _ ) this coward served. 

“Dear Pettigrew,” he whispers, dour and soft. The rat’s snuffling and squeaking freezes. He smiles slowly. “Should you escape whatever fate Black has planned for you, my mother and I will take great delight in catching you and introducing you to the more unfortunate of her late husbands.” 

Pettigrew attempts to bash himself into unconsciousness against the sides of the enchanted box. Blaise smiles and tucks the box into his trunk before heading off to Herbology. 

\--

He slips out to see Black on the next Hogsmeade weekend. He’s made up his mind about what course of action to take regarding Pettigrew, so the only challenge now is to get Black to agree to it. It’ll be difficult to spend time with his relative if he’s still a convicted murderer on the run, after all.

The look of resplendent joy on Black’s face when he hands Pettigrew over almost makes him change his mind. Why not give the man his fun? It could be a bonding experience. 

No, he reminds himself, mentally shaking his head. He has to be strong. 

“We’ll take him to the Ministry,” Blaise tells Black, sitting on some old crate. “We’ll prove your innocence first - you can’t be a murderer if the supposed victim is clearly alive and well - and then we can get to know each other as family ought to.”

Black is nodding along, clearly finding wisdom in Blaise’s plan, until he gets to the family bit, where he pauses. His eyebrows draw together in confusion. 

“Family..?” Black draws the word out like he’s unfamiliar with the term. Blaise’s patience runs short. He knows the man’s not stupid: Blaise has his father’s dark green eyes, the snakebite freckles on his upper jaw, the same quiet cunning. “But you’re a Zabini?”

Blaise nods, rolling his eyes. “Yes, and my father is a Black. He’s technically  _ Lord Black _ but he’s recovering right now and Mother didn’t feel it was safe for him to enter society in his condition. I’m your nephew.”

“Nephew…” Black is clearly thinking through his male relatives, striking them off the list. It doesn’t take him long to go through the whole thing - Blacks die incredibly young usually, due either to some form of the Madness or some strange sense of bravado.

“Your brother,” Blaise prompts, waving one hand through the air demonstrably. “Regulus Arcturus Black is my father and paramour to my mother, Isla Zabini.” Black’s mouth gapes. 

**Author's Note:**

> so apparently regulus is a theme with me now, please feel free to suggest things you'd like to see involving him  
> just keep in mind that it may not come out of my brain the way it came out of yours <3


End file.
